


The Weight of a Crown

by staymagical



Series: Fealty [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chef Hunk, Gen, Knight Keith (Voltron), Knight Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Prince Lance - Freeform, Princess Allura (Voltron), Tutor Pidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27921472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staymagical/pseuds/staymagical
Summary: Lance's whole life thus far has been building up to this moment. The moment he's crowned prince and takes up the mantle of heir to the throne.And Lance isn't sure he's ready.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Fealty [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044567
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	The Weight of a Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Was intended as a prequel to my other story Fealty, but can be read separately as well. Still in that same Prince Lance/Knight Keith vein
> 
> Written for Blue Moon: A Lance zine

Lance is going to throw up.

It is pathetic, honestly. Today is no different than any other day, the skies as blue and cloudless as the sea that laps at the back of Altea’s white walls. The castle is bustling with townspeople going about their business, children laughing in the courtyard, chipper greetings echoing through the corridors, servants walking briskly arms laden with food and decoration for the banquet later in the day. Just another day.

Except the turmoil writhing within Lance and the coronation that is looming ever closer as the sun crests higher in the sky.

Crowned prince.

They are just words strung together to form an intangible title but one that holds great power and responsibility. One that promises to grow into more, to shape the land by a select few’s whims, to do as they see fit with laws and rules and regulations that thousands must live by. The peoples’ very lives are at the mercy of that title.

One that Lance never asked for nor does he desire. But alas, he has no choice in the matter. It is his by blood and birthright and that is not something he can relinquish so easily.

“Calm yourself, dear brother,” Allura says, lounging at the foot of his bed seemingly unaffected by the weight this day holds. And why should she be? She’s not being crowned today or piled high with new responsibilities and expectations. She shoulders her own with perfect poise and grace as usual. Truly it should be her being crowned today, not him. “You’ll be ill before Riso can even get you fully dressed and then where will we be?”

“Still here hopefully, only with my ceremonial clothing in need of washing.” Lance fidgets under Riso’s ministrations, nervous energy coursing through his veins begging him to keep moving, to burn away the pit in his stomach by exhausting himself. He turns his head toward his sister holding out his arms for Riso to fix his doublet in place. “Would that delay the day, do you think?”

Allura shrugs, shifting until her skirts smooth out. “Perhaps, but it would be best not to test it. Father may just proceed with you a mess.” She grins, not inherently wicked but certainly with an amusement that Lance doesn’t share. “Would make for quite a memorable coronation.”

And he can see it, being ushered down the corridor and thrust into the great hall, donned in his finest clothes stained with vomit. How the court would laugh, how they’d whisper and gossip and judge. How when the time came, his rule would be forever scarred by the shame of his coronation. 

Everything he does from now until he is crowned king at his father’s death will lay the foundation of his rule. It will sow the seeds of his people’s judgment, pave the streets toward his future and the prosperity or destruction of their kingdom. His whole life he’s had the eyes of the kingdom on him but until today he was seen as just a boy, not yet fit to be king. All his mistakes and failings were nothing more than childish fallacy that he would mature out of.

But now? Now he’s to be a man, a king in the making. Each blunder from here on out is a mark against his reputation.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Allura sighs and leans back on her hands in a rare display of impropriety. “Not much of a choice but as long as you don’t lead the kingdom to death and ruin when the time comes, I think history will see you as a good leader.”

It’s a joke, he knows it is but the words still strike true and sharp in his heart to drop like a stone in his stomach.

Lance whirls to face Allura, forcing Riso to take a step back lest he be hit by a wayward sleeve. 

“Don’t jest. I’m serious,” Lance hisses. His fear is boiling over, seeping into his throat until his words taste sour in his mouth. “I’m not fit for this. You’re better suited to rule, not me. Lord Holt says my language studies are decent at best, I can barely grasp the strategies Sir Takashi tries to instill in me, and I have yet to best Sir Keith on the training field—”

“No one is able to best him so that’s not much of a defeat.”

With a sigh, the tension and rage in Lance’s shoulders evaporates and he sinks down into the chair by his wardrobe and buries his head in his hands. “I’m not ready.”

“And when will you be?” Allura’s words have lost their teasing tone, her voice so hard and sharp it leaves no room for argument and demands Lance’s attention. With a rustle of fabric, Allura gets to her feet to loom over Lance with all the regal elegance Lance yearns to convey. “Once you’ve mastered the art of warfare or memorized every word of every language? When you can fell an entire battalion blindfolded with one arm tied behind your back?” She shakes her head, features softening as she crouches before Lance and takes his hands. “You ask too much of yourself, Lance. Perfection is nothing more than a web of lies spun by doubt and fear. Do not let yourself fall victim to its siren call. You’re better equipped than you know.”

Lance is struck speechless by her words, not because he believes them, though he’s desperately trying to, but because Allura says them with such conviction and heart that it’s hard to disparage them. 

So Lance just nods, squeezing her hands in the hopes of soaking up even a meager amount of her strength and allows her to pull him to his feet. He still feels uncertain, wary of the day and how he may be perceived and welcomed but there’s little he can do at this point. He just needs to focus on not tripping or throwing up all over himself. Later, after everything is said and done and he’s alone in his chambers once more, he can break down like he so desperately wants to.

Lance barely hears the knock on his chamber doors through his reverie, calling an absentminded “Enter,” as Riso silently holds out pieces of livery for him to choose from. 

The large oak door pushes open and Lance glances over to see a Shiro and Keith stride through, donned in their full knight regalia, swords hanging from their belts, armor shined and gleaming.

Lance’s heart lodges in this throat, his stomach turning into knots.

Both the knights bow low in greeting. “My lord. Milady.”

“Is it time?” Lance chokes out around his heart.

“Nearly, your majesty,” Shiro responds with a comforting smile. Behind him, Keith remains as stoic as ever but his eyes gleam as he gives Lance a reassuring nod. “We just wished to offer our assistance if you require anything.” 

The air in his chambers suddenly feels constricting, suffocating with anticipation of the looming event. He tries to focus on breathing, to infuse his veins with a courage that’s far too fleeting. The doubts and fears surface like angry beasts, snarling and gnashing their teeth, taking chunks out of every shred of confidence he manages to muster until he's certain he’s about to vomit.

Allura must see the tension mounting in Lance for she rolls her eyes and turns to the two knights. “Dearest Shiro, will you please tell my brother he’s being a fool worrying about trivial matters like a coronation for a title he’s had since birth.”

“Allura!” Lance growls, now battling shame and embarrassment along with all the other overwhelming emotions surging through him like a storm. It’s one thing to share his fears and vulnerabilities with Allura who has been with him through the ups and downs since birth. It's another thing to display them to the two men Lance respects most, barring his own father. 

Allura shrugs, waving away Lance’s objection like it’s nothing. “What? If you won’t listen to me, perhaps you’ll listen to them. You hold them in such high regard after all.”

It’s said with such normalcy, such casual air, anyone would have thought this common knowledge and not an admittance whispered in quiet quarters well past dark. He admires them, yes, both in their own unique ways, but to hear it spoken aloud in their presence?

Lance wants to hurl himself off the bell tower. Instead, he just festers in his own shame and hides his reddening cheeks into his hands. “Please I beg of you, just let me wallow in peace. I promise to not run off and skip this day altogether, no matter how tempting the thought may be.”

And it is indeed very tempting. He won’t, no matter how bad things may get. He could never abandon his kingdom to an unknown fate.

Riso finishes donning Lance in all his finery and with a nod and a gentle, “Thank you, Riso,” Lance dismisses him. He bows and disappears into the antechamber to finish up his own last-minute preparations.

Lines of worry appear on Shiro’s forehead as he frowns. “What has brought all this about? Has someone expressed disapproval of your coronation?”

Lance shakes his head and hurries to reassure him. “It is nothing Shiro, please do not concern yourself. I have some issues of my own I need to sort through.”

“Then I will say the same to you. Do not concern yourself, your majesty. All the years I have known you, I have not heard one disparaging word against your person. You have made mistakes, and yes, there are some unrefined edges that need to be smoothed but you will make a fine king someday. The court believes it, the staff believes it, the people believe it. The only fault I have been able to see in you is your own inability to believe in yourself.” 

“And the cocky charade you exhibit to hide it,” Keith mutters, but there’s the hint of a grin pulling at his lips. He steps forward, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his blue-grey eyes more earnest and sincere than Lance has ever seen them. “All jests aside, you’re the only one standing in your own way of being the king you aspire to be. So perhaps, for once, you should listen to me when I tell you to shut up,” he finishes with a raised pointed brow.

A startled chuckle bubbles out of Lance’s throat, his heart feeling somewhat lighter than before. He looks at the people gathered in his chambers, his sister, his teacher, and commander, and his knight, all with faith and confidence in him to lead them into a future of peace and prosperity. They believe he is ready.

And with every word, he’s starting to believe it himself.

“I second that notion.”

They all jump and turn toward the sound of the new voice. Hunk and Pidge stand by the wall on the far side of the chambers, Hunk with a covered tray in his hands and Pidge with her ever-present smirk. Both dressed in their best finery of brocades and silks and metals so fine. 

Lance’s heart rabbits beneath his breast. “How long have you two been there?”

“Long enough,” Pidge answers with a wave of her hand toward the inconspicuous door behind them. “Came in through the servant’s door. You all were in the midst of such encouraging speeches we didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Your majesty,” Hunk greets with a bow, mindful of the tray in his hands.

Lance shakes his head, smiling at his long time friend as he makes his way over and clasps him on the shoulder in a show of camaraderie. “Hunk, please. We are all friends here, I hope.”

“Even Keith?” Pidge smirks, jerking her thumb toward the knight in question. Keith frowns and looks like he wants to object but just settles for crossing his arms and rolling his eyes in amusement.

“Yes, even Keefers,” Lance says, throwing a wink over his shoulder with the nickname, both of which he knows Keith detests. But at this moment he deserves a bit of entertainment, watching Keith’s face redden in equal parts embarrassment and annoyance. 

In a surprising twist, Keith just shakes his head, scowling as he holds up a finger, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Just this once, your majesty.”

The title is dripping with sarcasm and not the least bit of respect. Lance’s smile widens.

Hunk offers Lance the tray in his hands, lifting up the cloth over it to reveal two levels of sugar-coated, sweet delectables. “I wanted to bring you a few sweetmeats before your coronation. A celebration of sorts.”

For a fleeting moment, Lance had forgotten the coronation, the weight of the court and kingdom, the lives that would depend on him, caught up in the familiarity of teasing and companionship of his friends. For a moment, he had believed all was as it should be. 

But it wasn’t. His world was changing today and he would have to change with it. The dread sitting in his stomach wasn’t nearly as heavy as before, but it still remained, like iron at the bottom of the lake. 

He scrambles to right his falling smile. “I haven’t been crowned yet,” he says, taking a cursory look over the sweets Hunk produced. His stomach turns with nerves.

Hunk chuckles, holding the tray a little closer in offering. “A little indulgence beforehand never hurt anyone.”

Beside him, Pidge scoffs. “Tell that to Lord Elias.”

A splattering of agreement and chuckles fill the room from his friends at the thought of the pot-bellied lord of the north.

Hunk sobers quickly, face falling into one of solemn earnestness as he sets the sweetmeats down on Lance’s desk and clasps his shoulder in a mirror of Lance’s greeting. “Lance, listen to them. You are already showing great promise and leadership. I knew the moment I met you in the kitchens when we were just mischievous boys that you’d shape into a fine king. And I still believe that.”

Lance sallows, clears his throat, then swallows again, trying to stave off the onslaught of emotions. From Allura’s words to Shiro’s, to Keith’s, Lance isn’t sure what to feel anymore, how to express the emotions that bubble up his chest to clog his throat. 

“Yeah, what Hunk said,” Pidge pipes up. She jabs a sharp elbow into his side, the fabric of her dress brushing across the stone floor. “I still think you’re an idiot, but you’re a brilliant idiot when it comes down to it. I’ll be proud to call you my king one day.”

And that does it. Tears prick at the corner of Lance’s eyes, forcing him to blink a couple of times to clear them. He laughs, hand over his chest. “Alright, I get it. I’m a damned fool.”

Pidge throws up her arms. “Finally he admits it. Been trying to get him to do that for years.”

He just laughs again, looking around the room at each of his friends in turn, the smiles on their faces, the trust in their eyes. The confidence they exude. For him, because of him. 

Perhaps one day he will understand exactly what it is they see in him, what makes them instill all their faith and trust in him. What drew them to be his friend and not just another member of the royal court to greet him in passing. But they are here together, of all different standings and ranks, together as one to support him. And he knows for certain he would not be standing here as he is today if they weren’t in his life.

“Thank you,” Lance says, voice solemn and watery. “All of you. Truly, I’m not sure I could have gotten here without each of you.”

They all nod as one in respect, in understanding, in friendship.

Allura tilts her chin. “And we’ll continue to stand with you.”

Shiro nods. “Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Sure.”

Keith shrugs, hand on his sword hilt. “I have no choice.” But he’s smiling as he says it, his gaze steadfast and loyal. A look repeated on each and every one of his friends' faces. 

And when Lance walks into the Great Hall of his own accord, striding down the aisle with his head held high and his mantle resting heavy on his shoulders, it’s not to judgment and sneers and jests from all sides. It’s to bows and respect, with a splattering of confidence shining in many an eye, but especially his father’s. Allura stands beside their father on the dais, her smile unwavering, eyes glistening with so much pride, Lance’s throat begins to clog and he’s forced to blink tears from his eyes lest he loses it before he’s even crowned. Instead, he takes a measured breath and keeps his face neutral as he kneels before Archbishop Coran.

It’s over in a heartbeat, the circlet of gold leaf inlay light upon his crown filled with responsibility and hope for the future. And then Lance is turning to face a court of cheers and applause, catching Hunk’s tearful gaze and Pidge’s smug amusement, Shiro’s nod of respect and satisfaction and Keith’s steely blue-gray unwavering loyalty. His friends, his comrades, his support.

He’s not sure where he would be without them, without their friendship, their support, shaping him, molding him, making him the man he is today. The king he will one day become.

And a few candlemarks later, when they find him on the balcony overlooking the kingdom he is one day to inherit, they remind him just how much faith they have in him. As one by one, they kneel before him, Pidge, Hunk, Keith, Shiro, and Allura, and swear their fealty to him, to his future rule, to the kingdom he is to shape and build. They swear their lives to him in the ultimate show of trust and faith, unbroken except in death. 

He’s unashamed to say he cried, the tears flowing unbidden as he accepts their fealty and begs them to rise. They stand there together, their hearts beating in tune with Lance’s own, their support flowing through him, boldening him, strengthening him. Infusing him with a confidence he’d never known before.

And he knows whatever challenges the future may have in store, he can rise and meet them head-on.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my Instagram for more Klance and VLD drabbles, short fics, and the rare art piece: [staymagwrites](https://www.instagram.com/staymagwrites/)


End file.
